For years, Chicago has conned the baseball world into believing Wrigley Field preserved the tradition of baseball; that it is the seminal stadium from which the popularity of baseball grew. Nostalgia is pushed on fans, many of whom paid $25-$50 to park in a near-by resident’s garage or the ever popular convent parking lot where nuns finger $20 bills with the dexterity of a bookie.

Perhaps the most curious aspect of Wrigley Field are the freeloaders who squat on various neighboring rooftops in seats only marginally less distant than Voyager II. They don’t just pilfer the game as they once did, years ago, when they put out a few lawn chairs and watched a couple of innings from across the street. Building owners have erected stadium seating – large metal bleachers onto which dozens of people sit, often paying large sums of money to sit across the street, at least 200 feet further than the farthest outfield seat. Literally hundreds of fans cram into these steep bleachers in full view of fire inspectors and building code enforcement, convinced that they are enjoying a unique experience.

They have another tradition, that of singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” in the 7th inning, led off-key by some minor celebrity dragged in to aver his undying allegiance to a team whose moniker is “The Lovable Losers.” And they are, in more ways than one.